Strike Three
by CrackedCrow
Summary: All Hiccup wanted from his sports-loving father was a little respect, so he builds a baseball-launching machine. Then he accidentally shoots something down in the forest, and Hiccup finds himself with a whole new set of problems.


**The next chapter of Asterism is struggling, so while I work on that, enjoy this little gem! This is most likely going to stay a oneshot, unless inspiration strikes at a later date. Enjoy!**

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Hiccup blamed most of his problems on sports. Baseball, to be specific, but also just sports in general.

His father, Stoick, was a gigantic fan of baseball. His favorite team was the local Vikings. He had attended every game, and was even friends with most of the team. When Hiccup had been born, Stoick had had dreams of him growing up to become a famous Viking. Instead, Hiccup was short, skinny, and entirely unathletic. The one time he had played catch with his dad, he not only missed the ball, but tripped over himself and lost a tooth.

No matter how many gym classes and (desperately paid for by Stoick) private lessons Hiccup had, he didn't gain the skills his father had so desired. The only type of exercise Hiccup was good at was hiking. He had an incredibly high stamina for someone so small, and could walk or run for hours. Hiccup had once considered joining the track team as a compromise, but Stoick wasn't a compromising sort of person.

When Hiccup was ten, he met Stoick's old veteran friend, Gobber. Gobber had a prosthetic arm and leg, but he used to be a pitcher for the Vikings before he joined the military. Now, he was a mechanic and owned a local workshop.

Hiccup began spending his free time at Gobber's shop. Soon, he was learning everything he could ever want to know about mechanics. By the time he was 13, Hiccup was designing and building his own inventions, all the while disappointing Stoick further with his lack of athleticism.

When Hiccup was 15, Stoick finally got fed up. He made Hiccup try out for the community co-ed baseball team. Hiccup's cousin, Snotlout, was the captain, so Stoick had hoped that he would have a chance. He didn't know that Snotlout didn't like Hiccup.

The tryout didn't go so well, though. The less said about that, the better, in Hiccup's opinion.

The drive home was pent in silence. While Stoick was nearly frustrated to tears, not that he'd ever let himself be seen crying, Hiccup was scheming. When they got to their house - large, luxurious, entirely ridiculous in Hiccup's opinion - he immediately ran to his room, say down at his desk, and began planning.

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Two weeks later, Hiccup was in his backyard after school, assembling his baseball launching machine. It somewhat resembled a wooden catapult, because in essence, that's what it was. He was almost ashamed at how long it had taken him to create such a simple design. Hiccup hoped that, if he could prove to his dad that he didn't have to be athletic to throw a ball farther than any human could, maybe Stoick would finally leave him alone about sports.

Hiccup went over the machine one last time, checking for any pieces out of place. Satisfied, he loaded the baseball, aimed the device towards the woods behind his house, and pulled the trigger.

The baseball flew over the treetops, far higher than Hiccup had intended. It quickly disappeared behind the branches. Hiccup began to trot towards the treeline when he heard a bird squawk, a strange animalistic cry, and the cracking of branches, followed by a thump. Hiccup froze.

_It's okay,_ he tried to tell himself. _You didn't just hit an animal out of a tree, it's fine.  
_  
Hiccup managed to convince himself for all of five seconds. Then he dashed into the woods, heading for where the ball had disappeared. He darted past trees and bushes before finally reaching a pile of scattered branches. A black lump lay underneath the discarded leaves.

Hiccup hurriedly cleared away the debris, revealing black scales, fleshy ear flaps, sharp claws, large wings, and a long, slightly crooked tail. He stepped back, staring in awe.

Records of dragons went back as far as cave paintings, but they had been hunted to extinction shortly before the Black Death swept through Europe. In fact, it was thought that the resulting lack of rat hunters was the cause of the plague. Though dragons had become rather popular in media, often being portrayed far larger than they had been, a living specimen hadn't been seen in centuries.

All that said, Hiccup was absolutely certain that he was looking at a dragon.

It was small, only about the size of a bobcat, with pitch black scales, a lithe body, stocky limbs. Overall, it looked a bit like an oversized salamander with wings.  
Hiccup carefully rolled it onto it's side, checking for injuries. There was a large knot growing on the side of it's spade-shaped head, likely from the ball, and scratches covered its body from crashing through the branches. The most concerning injury, though, was the tail. Hiccup was sure it wasn't supposed to bend that way.

The dragon was out cold, so Hiccup carefully grabbed it's tail on both sides of the break and got to work setting the bone. The dragon flinched and growled, and Hiccup froze, but it didn't wake.

The tail semi-straight again, Hiccup thought over his options. He couldn't just leave it here. From the looks of the tailfins, and what Hiccup knew of aerodynamics, the dragon wouldn't be able to fly until it healed. If it couldn't fly, it couldn't hunt or escape predators.

With a heavy sigh, Hiccup scooped up the dragon and carried it back to the house. He passed his machine, slipped in the back door, stepped through the kitchen and up the stairs. Luckily, Stoick was out at work. Hiccup carried the dragon into his room, set it on the floor, and shut the door. Then he sat a his desk, dropped his head into his hands, and stared at the creature.

He had absolutely no clue what he was going to do now.

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**That's all, folks!**


End file.
